


Glittering Prizes

by 1800areyouslapping



Series: Commissions [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Grandfather/Granddaughter Incest, Incest, Mutual Pining, Size Difference, tummy bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 14:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16088060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1800areyouslapping/pseuds/1800areyouslapping
Summary: Reader is in her mid-twenties. It is mutual pinning by the way, even if near old grandpa Reinhardt doesn’t know it at first ;) A commission written for Anonymous! *smooch*





	Glittering Prizes

Not often does something consume Reinhardt’s thoughts as righteously as the lovely face that’s been on his mind. Ever since that trip to the beach a couple of fuzzy years back. The trip that had him disappearing into the salty waters in order to hide his shame. He’s one strong man. But  _that?_ That was almost too much to bear.

Reinhardt attempted to wash away the desires. Let them float off, sink into the dark, deep depths of the endless ocean. Hoped the crushing realization that he was enamored, hard fallen into degenerate lust with a young lady that he very much wasn’t supposed to be loving in that way, carry away with the tide.

It was that villainous little bikini. The way your cheeks hung out the bottom, wet, and stuck with sand. So cute you were, and yet such an immaculate  _woman_. It was how you were the most gorgeous thing at that beach. Even next to the far-reaching waters, and the majesty that was the great outdoors, you were still all he could focus on.

It was your soft, supple thighs clamped around his ears as your  _Opa_  hoisted his precious grandbaby up, gave you the ultimate volleyball advantage. Your bikini shifted just to the side, your sex rubbed against his neck. You swiftly adjusted, but it was just enough for him to feel wet, velvety lips. Reinhardt’s first fantasy? Swinging you around in order to get a taste.  

His desire for you hit him harder than a swing of his mighty hammer into a war omnic on the battlefield. He never could recover.

“ _Opa!”_

Shivers ran rapidly down Reinhardt’s vast spine, yanked him out of his own head. Your voice never failed to do that to him. Lift his spirits. Make his steady hands shake. Make his chest puff up like a proud peacock. To him, your voice was like waves of comfort and oxytocin. Instinctively, as if it was second nature by then. He flexed his ginormous muscles; veiled cheekily as a stretch with a loud hearty groan. He interlaced his fingers, palms faced away from him and held his arms out in front of him.    

“Meine mouse!” he exclaimed. “You are late!”   

You face lit up with a grin. You tossed your duffle bag to the floor. “I am not,  _Opa_!” You crossed your arms your gorgeous chest. That sports bra was unfair on such a weak man like him, holstering your breasts to great heights. Making them look so delectable. “ _You_ , are the one who is early. As always.”

Working out, lifting weights for Reinhardt has always been an intricate important part of his life. Keeping his body strong and learned, even after the war and the disbandment of Overwatch. When you started expressing interest in joining him in the gym it lit a new fire under his feet; it coursed new passion through the old lion’s veins. The gym and working out didn’t seem so blase to him anymore; no longer the mere routine of an old war dog. 

Your audience almost motivates him more than Overwatch or the war ever did. The way your bright, wide eyes light up. The beautiful head-spinning grin you gift him with. And the sincere compliments you shower him with when he lifts the hefty weights that very few other men could even get an inch off of the ground. Custom-made weights and a custom-made gym for Crusaders (one of the very few things he’s allowed himself to splurge on in his “retirement”), he needs far more room than the common man trying to gain a little muscle.

He may be a wise, “retired” knight, but he’s still got it. Got enough of “it” to keep your attention while you’re here (you hardly do any heavy lifting or working out yourself, too busy ogling… or at least what he thinks– _hopes_ –is ogling), and keep his darling granddaughter coming back to spend quality time with her grandpa again and again.

Reinhardt was no fool (maybe he was). Under no delusion that you were just being a sweet girl. A good grandaughter giving her grandpapa the attention that most grandpapas would eat up and love. He did the same. Ate it up, absorbed it. Kept it locked away in a personal little space in his mind where he took it back out and used all the adoration you laid on him to form fantasies. Ones where you’d return his twisted, perverse feelings.

You plopped down on the mat. Got to stretching; all kinds of yoga poses that would drive even the most chaste man insane. He hard-focused on pumping his muscles. Kept in perfect form. Added more weight, did more reps. Watched you carefully, timidly. Too worried to stare for too long. Rein’d ogle forever if he was allowed. His thirst was never quite quenched. God forbid if you figured out what an old perv he is. Your glorious, highly regarded, war hero  _Opa_. All because you caught him, red-faced and half chub, gawking at the shapely curves of your ass as you bent over to touch your toes. He’d be torn to shreds, defeated if all of your glow and shine, the admiration you have for him was replaced by disgust.

What a great dishonor that would be.  

The greatest reward, and the one way he knows he’s successfully shown off, is when you come to hang on his arms. It happened when he sat to take a break. You pounced on him. Took his stationary time a little more on your level to glide your hand across his broad valley of shoulders. Even sitting down he was still taller than you were standing.  

“I’ve seen these shoulders so many times and I’m still amazed,” you said. “How can any one person be this strong?”

He was happy to sit still, let you pet and praise him like a dog. Such sweet torture it is, being touched by you. Small, delicate, and soft hands. An erotic graze of your nails over his bicep. The candied scent of perfume laced with potent florals. All will be locked away in that little corner of his mind. Prime material for the fantasy he’d quickly build up and rub out in the locker room showers.  

You gripped and squeezed each muscle along his arms. Traced the definition between them. “Flex for me,  _Opa_.”

“Anything for you, meine mouse.” He curled his arm, held it directly in front of your face. The grin was immediate, the astounding reward.  

You shook your head from amazement. Unbelieving of what was right before your eyes. “A tree trunk!” you exclaim. You lightly graze your finger over a few veins that bulge and mumble, “Love the way these look.” A sudden frown took his smile away. “Is that weird?”  

“Not at all!” He flexed his arm even tighter, the veins bulged more. “Ladies young and old adore the veins.” 

You wrapped both of your arms around his arm and hung there. He lowered and curled his arm back in effortlessly. “You were mere featherweight as a babe and you’re mere featherweight now, my darling girl,” he said. “I feel no difference!”

“You’re full of it,  _Opa_.”

“It’s true!” he said. “Don’t question your Opa. I’m wise you know,” he teased.   

You grew bored, drifted right back into rubbing and caressing his muscles. Reinhardt found it necessary to shift. Lean forward. Cover his lap with one of his “tree trunk” arms. He closed his eyes. Soaked in every little touch. Didn’t let a single one escape him. Tried to memorize the patterns. Where your hands tended to roam more than others. His skin felt electric, buzzing. Could you too feel that electricity? Would you tear your hand way from a right old shock?

Internally, he begged his blood to stop boiling, his skin to cease the humming, his monstrous, inconspicuous cock to settle down, to keep the throbbing and the insistent growth against his forearm to a minimum. For a man who was so massive in every aspect: seven feet tall, muscles as big and heavy as boulders, and an inflated ego to match (though the years have taken him down a notch or two), you sure could make him feel light as a feather. On high and addicted to the feeling.

Suddenly, your lips meet his shoulder. Once. Quick; sweet. They were gone in an instant. But then they were back. Another quick, and sweet kiss. Like giving him a peck on the cheek before seeing him off. Reinhardt felt like he was slipping into one of his fantasies. Where that sweet, innocent kiss bled into more passionate ones, and those passionate kisses led to sinful coupling.

“Okay,” you said, clamped his shoulders in both your hands, “my turn.”

You rounded the bench faster than he could make words come out of his mouth. Faster than his brain could send the signal to his legs: get up! In slow motion he watched you. Watched his reputation with you shatter the moment that your round bottom met his stony lap. Reinhardt’s hands shook, frozen just next to your hips.

But then you didn’t move. Didn’t jump up and away from him like a girl trying to get away from a big, biting snake. Didn’t gasp or look back at him with disgust.

You settled back against his chest. “Well?” you said. “Go on, get started.” You looked back slightly over your shoulder, rolled your hips, ground down on his erection. He  _must_  have been dreaming.

You found the courage to look back at him. Sultry, low-lidded eyes and a look of uncertainty. “Should I get off?” you whispered.

 _Should_   _you_? Yes. Did he want you to? No. He shook his head; speechless and dumbfounded, it’d be a few more moments until he remembered how to speak.

You sighed and grinned. You were so relieved, leading him to believe that you too had been harboring feelings that were much in the same as his own. All of your flirtation wasn’t just a figment of his imagination after all; he  _is_  a fool.

Full of newfound glowing confidence you circled, picked up your gyrations. His hands finally found their way. He engulfed your shoulders, only put a quarter of his strength into kneading, squeezing. You were so dainty and fragile compared to him. He could snap you like a twig if he wasn’t careful.

You spread your legs, hooked your feet under his own. Rolled your body in a gorgeous wave, applied more pressure against his throbbing, heavy cock. You craned your neck to look at him (to try and kill him in his opinion). Glassy-eyed, drunk off the heat wafting from under his gym shorts. Quick, your lips crashed against his own, so much passion and pent-up frustration behind it you nearly knocked him off the bench.

He forgot all about your tense shoulders, cupped your face in one big hand instead. Groped a breast with his other. You chased his lips with a sharp bite. Your languid tongue to sooth them, moaned so pretty it sounded like a sirens call. He was so greedy, eager to see you. He tugged your tank top too harshly. It ripped, jarring to his ears, but you didn’t care. You kissed Reinhardt with the hunger of a starved woman, fumbled with the hooks at the front of your bra. Didn’t detach yourself for a single moment. Nothing could tear you away. Not even the fabric keeping Reinhardt’s imagination working on hyperdrive.  

Finally, the tight fabric snapped open and fells to the wayside. Gifts him with the site of the hardest little nipples he’s ever laid eyes on. The kind that tempts a man to pinch, to suck. The kind of breasts that beg to be lavished. Though, he could make them harder. He palmed both of your tits, rolling your nubs between his fingers. Pulled, tugged, pinched. A tight pinch made you gasp and moan through clenched teeth, detaching you from his mouth.

You panted, bit your lip. “That feels so good,  _Opa,_ ” you crooned. Your pace picked up, ramped up to a speed that wound up so much friction your gyrating ass milked precum that stained the light grey of his shorts darker. “You’re so big,” you said with a happy sigh. “So, so big, I can feel your cock twitching. It’s getting harder.”

“Darling, that’s what you do to me,” he whispered in your ear. 

You grabbed one of his hands and shoved them down into your leggings. They gave way and made room for him easily. He had had his suspicions and was pleased to find you were without underwear. His fingers slid over your mound and encapsulated your cunt. So impatient, you shoved his fingers between your slick lips. Juices squelched, seeped between his digits, hot and slippery. “That’s what you do to me, _Opa_.”

He pushed one big, thick, calloused finger into you, nice and smooth. You threw your head back. Rolled it back and forth along his shoulder, “Oh! Oh, my,  _God_ … I can’t believe this is happening…” Neither could he; he was prepared to wake up at any moment. You reached down between your own legs and cupped his dick. “I wanna see your cock, take it out, let me see it, let me see…”

Your desperation propelled him to move quickly. Reinhardt lifted you up using the one hand hooked around your pussy, shoved his shorts down to his feet and plopped you back down on his bare lap. His cock stood tall, girthy, and proud between your legs. He felt smug as you gawked at it, reached out to touch. So engrossed, you barely reacted to a second finger slipping inside of you, just a small twitch of your shoulders and a light hum. He scissored you wide open, reached deep. So soft, so pliable; you’d take him well.

No amount of careful fingering ever completely took the edge off of the initial stretch of his cock with any of his past partners, but it at least made the burn a pleasurable one. Your hand barely wrapped around half of his girth. Regardless you stroked while he shoved a third finger inside. You were near uncontainable. Moaning, writhing, bouncing and fucking yourself on his fingers.

“Little bunny, you’re so  _wet_ ,” he gruffed. “But I could stand to have you wetter.” He thumbed your clit gently, wanted to bring you to the brink of cumming, but didn’t want to shove you over it. He wasn’t privy to your sensitivity, maybe the gentle strokes would take you there anyway. Reinhardt had been told in the past through past loves, breathy moans, and desperate whimpers that his fingers, especially three in and knuckle deep, felt like riding an average sized cock. 

You had enough with your real desire becoming ever messier in your hands. You shoved your leggings down to your ankles and whipped around with a little of his help, straddling his wide hips. Face to face.

Your eyes burned bright with lust and need. His cock jerked at the sight of them, gushed precum. He was reminded of his worry when it comes to his sexual partners. All so much smaller than him. The worry ramped up to higher levels. It’s you. You, his one and only grandbaby. His intimidating cock lifted, fell. Rested against your belly. Fully seated as you were his dick was framed by your rib cage. It seemed an impossible thing for you to take, but you were determined, he could see it simmering in your glassy eyes.

Reinhardt held fast to your waist. Holding you like this it seemed unnatural and not because of the familial ties. His hand enclosed around your waist. Fingertips touching, while you nudged his girthy cock to the gash of your cunt. You were soaking wet, so hot, and he wasn’t even close to being inside of you yet. You eased yourself down hard onto his cock. You stretched; opened and gripped him tight. Finally, he popped inside. You froze up. Eyes bulged, mouth agape, tongue twitching. You pulsed around the tip of his cock, trying to swallow him up.

“S-slow down.” He was out of breath and stuttering. “You’ll hurt yourself, meine mouse.”

You shook your head. So stubborn and headstrong, reminding him of himself when he was younger and wildly foolish. “I wanna take it all,  _Opa._ ” You sunk down further. Groaned like an animal. Your thighs trembled, you clung to his large pecs as you came. Anchored in place. Coming undone from the mere stretch of your welcoming cunt. If not for the orgasm stopping you in your eager, impatient tracks you would have taken him all in in one, long drag.

You leaned back, he held you steady. “Look at you,  _Opa._ ” Placing two hands on your stomach you brought his attention to the bulge protruding from your belly, just below your belly button. You bounced languidly, gentle rises and falls. Now pleased with taking things a little slower so you could watch the bulge gradually disappear and reappear. Such a lewd, grotesque sight had you gushing down his cock, quivering on the inside and outside.

“You’re so deep inside me…” You seemed unsure if you actually liked having him so buried deep. “ _Ooh_ ,” you whined. “I can feel every, single, throb.”

Then it was Reinhardt who was growing impatient and impulsive. Pressure welled in his stomach, coiled in the muscle of his arms. He gripped your waist with purpose and sunk you down a few extra inches to test, searched your face for a pained reaction and found nothing but a blissed out ‘o’. You leaned back and braced yourself just above his knees and let his bounce you up and down, taking you down further each time until you were skin to skin, eyes fixed on his own. Mouth completely agape, expression dumbed out.

Even then, the guilty thoughts still tickled the forefront of his mind.  _This is disgusting, this is abhorrent, where is your honor?_  But then your pussy would flutter, your chest would shake with yet another orgasm. The nagging thoughts not just faded away but were aggressively pushed out of the way making way for… nothing. Nothing but the primal desire to use your body to milk his balls dry. Surely nothing bad could ever feel this heavenly; the best fuck he’s ever had.

Reinhardt lifted you off his cock just as he was cumming, painted your chest white with thick, milky ribbons. One healthy spurt after the other. Some reached up to your clavicles, spilled over your breasts, and rolled down your heaving midsection. He growled deep in his chest and moaned all the way through it, humped air until every last drop glistened on your sweaty skin. Beads of sweat rolled down his pecs, tickled his back. You’d both needed a to hit the showers.

You hummed and ran your fingers through the mess on your chest. “You’ve ruined me for any other man, Opa,” you gazed down at his softening cock, and your cherry red pussy, “no one could  _ever_  fill me like that.”

“Good,” he said, and he meant it.


End file.
